


slide down to the sea

by noiselesspatientspider



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Dream Sex, F/F, Macro/Micro, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, extremely questionable ideas of scale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:03:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15676716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noiselesspatientspider/pseuds/noiselesspatientspider
Summary: Hella has a dream.





	slide down to the sea

Hella knows she’s dreaming because she’s naked, and because she’s warm. She sleeps fully clothed now, half because she never sleeps through the night anymore, and half because she hasn’t felt warm in months, not since Nacre. But here, in the way of dreams, her clothes have disappeared. 

She decides not to be concerned about it, enjoys the feeling of marble on her bare feet. She rolls her shoulders, luxuriating as the tension drains out of her body like a tangible thing, her muscles deciding all at once they have better things to do than try desperately to keep her from hypothermia. 

The other reason Hella knows she’s dreaming is curled around the throne of Nacre. Adelaide looks up, as if she hadn’t heard Hella come in, as if she hadn’t pulled Hella here. As if Hella were an incidental inconvenience, an errant insect. 

“Oh,” she says. “You’re here.”

And the final reason Hella knows she’s dreaming is that Adelaide is easily 40 feet tall. She takes up the entire center of the throne room, seated in a massive gold and ivory construction that can’t possibly bear her weight. If she stood, the pearls in her hair would brush the glimmering tiles on the dome that hovers above her. 

Hella swallows, her throat suddenly dry. She’s not used to feeling small. She’s always been large for her age, even before she’d cultivated it, even before she’d realized she could forge herself sharper, broader.

Adelaide’s so large that Hella’s brain rebels at the task of capturing all of her and supplies instead a profound sense of impossibility, of wrongness both dizzying and strangely appealing. She reaches out a palm, and Hella feels a visceral jolt of fear, and an equally visceral jolt of lust. 

She doesn’t try to cover herself. She walks, lets her hips roll, comfortable in her scars. Only the clench of her fists gives her away, and she sees Adelaide’s eyes flick down to where her fingers are digging into her palms. 

A small smile blooms across her massive face. “Don’t be afraid, Ordenna,” she commands. 

“I’m not,” Hella snaps. She’s reached Adelaide’s feet, and she has to crane her neck to meet her eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners, and it’s this simple bit of humanity that makes her climb into Adelaide’s palm. She tucks her legs under herself, then leans back on her palms, but Adelaide’s scrutiny makes her hunch back upright, unwilling to be quite that exposed. 

It doesn’t matter how she sits. She couldn’t be any more exposed, really, sitting bare in the Queen of Death’s palm in the center of her throne room. She imagines the galleries filled with courtiers and feels a sudden rush of ridiculous heat. 

“No, don’t cover yourself,” Adelaide says, and Hella can feel her voice vibrate all the way down into the palm she rests on. “Ordenna, you’ve never had any shame. Why should you start now?”

Hella feels the pit of her stomach vanish as she’s lifted, the tile flooring falling away. Adelaide’s impossibly close, her breath warm across Hella’s chest. “Let me see you,” she says, her eyes huge and brown and– not distant, not now. It’s overwhelming, being so close. Everything about Adelaide’s presence has always been engineered to overwhelm. 

Hella leans back against Adelaide’s curled fingers and lets herself be overwhelmed. She lets Adelaide arrange her, lets her move her limbs and run soft fingers over her body. She lets the hairs on her arms and legs stand on end, lets herself be made sensitive.

“So pliant,” Adelaide marvels. “I must admit I expected a little more fight out of you.” She runs her finger down Hella’s sternum over her stomach. 

Hella arches into her touch. Adelaide’s stopped, her finger hovering just over the base of her belly, just above where Hella actually wants it. “This is a dream,” Hella says. “I don’t have to fight you in my dreams, too,” and she reaches around Adelaide’s finger to palm herself, shuddering at the sensation of her own broad familiar fingers. 

Adelaide laughs, flicks her hand away with a single motion, and suddenly she’s pinned in Adelaide’s palm, her cunt a throbbing point of heat against Adelaide’s thumb. She can feel one of Adelaide’s rings cool and metallic against her back. Adelaide’s not even moving her hand, just holding her in place, holding her steady.

“Look at you,” Adelaide says. She presses down, just a little, and Hella feels the air leave her lungs in a rush. “Our Ordennan sister, Hella Varal. Do you know they call you the Queenkiller?” She releases her thumb. Hella bucks her hips up, seeking contact. 

“Greedy,” Adelaide laughs, her laugh like a fall of pearls. “But do you know what I think?” She hovers her finger just above Hella’s body, barely brushing her. Hella whines. “I think it’s the other way around.” 

She tilts her palm so Hella can see her, and Adelaide has her legs spread. She looks powerful. She looks wanton, lolling on the throne. Hella can see the outline of her beneath the gauze of her dress, dark curls and a flash of pink.

"Touch me," she commands, sliding her dress away and depositing Hella in her lap, and Hella does, eager, careful. She reaches down the length of Adelaide's cunt to get her hands wet, and Adelaide makes a pleased hum so she spends some time down there, rubbing her hands around the edges of her. She's too small to be satisfying, she knows that, even with both hands inside Adelaide, but she can feel Adelaide pulse around her as she runs her hands around the inner walls just inside of her.

She bends to get a better angle, and her head brushes Adelaide's clit. She makes a frustrated noise, and then she's picking Hella up, moving her whole body against the hot slick length of her. Like she's nothing, like she's a toy, like Hella hasn't sunk her blade into half of Hieron. Into her.

Hella's used to her lovers expecting her to hold them down, wanting the strength of her arms and her thighs and the broad muscles in her back that Adelaide's running a single finger down as she moves her. This is something different, here in the throne room with Adelaide's slick all down her body, all down her thighs where it mixes with her own. There's nothing in her but she feels like a vessel, a container for the whole of Adelaide's desire.

Adelaide's grip is uncomfortable, pinching her between her thumb and two forefingers, and it doesn't seem comfortable for Adelaide either– she can't get the friction she wants– so she adjusts, crooks her fingers between Hella's thighs to support her and rests her palm against Hella's back.

And oh, that's better. She's surrounded by Adelaide, broad palm against her back and hot wet cunt against her front, Adelaide's fingers between her legs holding her open and giving her something to grind against.

She can hear the queen above her, her moans echoing off the walls of the throne room, but even more she can feel the vibrations through Adelaide’s body. She wraps her arms around Adelaide’s fingers and rides it out, bucking back into Adelaide’s hand, chasing her own pleasure. 

Adelaide’s fingers clench, and Hella’s crushed against her. It’s nothing– it’s everything. She’s drowning in Adelaide’s cunt, pulsing against her, around her, hot and wet and thick and lightless. She can’t see, can’t hear, can’t _breathe_ – and she finds herself coming, helplessly, dizzy with terror and pleasure and lack of air. She could die here and she’d wake up in the same place, here in Adelaide’s fist– 

Adelaide’s grip on her slackens as she sags back against her throne. Hella gasps for air, her lungs burning, and Adelaide laughs, a little bitterly. “Turnabout,” she says, and deposits Hella at her side on the throne, where she collapses, panting. She’s filthy, dripping with slick, Adelaide’s and her own, but she’s so tired, and it’s warm here. 

The last thing she remembers is Adelaide wiping her off with a handkerchief, the cool touch of her hand on her back. 

When she wakes, the fire has gone out. She rises to relight it, shivering. When the wood finally catches, the dancing flames burn like bonfires on the shore back in Ordenna, like the shifting sea: lavender, blue, green. Hella watches the flames until the others wake, her sword by her side. The stones in the hilt catch the light. They do not give it back.

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you write the fic you want to see in the world. don't @ me. big shoutout to dark twitter, y'all know who you are.
> 
> title from Florence + the Machine's "Big God" because of course.


End file.
